She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. Constantly sick with the croup or diaper rash. What does he do these three days?’ She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report.
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